The Winter Lodge

by Susan Wiggs

  With his opening serve, he knew what this was going to be—a punishment. Every shot was designed to punish Joey, which was so stupid because Joey was his best friend. Joey was also a good player, having shared lessons and practice sessions with Rourke as they were growing up. But Joey had the girl, and Rourke had nothing but his temper and his powerful tennis game, which he used without mercy. This was an all-out battle. He drove Joey around the court until he could see the sweat pouring down his friend’s face and body, saturating his clothes. He creamed him two sets in a row, lured him up to the net and then lobbed him. In the end they shook hands over the net, but Rourke didn’t even look at Joey.

  Rourke took possession of the trophy—a silver-plated cup—but as he stood there holding it, Joey walked away with the girl. To Rourke’s surprise, Philip Bellamy came over to congratulate him. He was the eldest son of the camp owners and a friend of Rourke’s parents, which made Rourke immediately suspicious.

  “I held the title myself one year,” Mr. Bellamy said, “back in 1977.”

  “It’s, uh, quite an honor, sir,” Rourke said.

  Mr. Bellamy looked over at Joey, who was standing in the shade with Jenny. She had taken off her sun hat. Joey had a towel slung around his neck, and he was earnestly talking to her. “Who’s that?” Mr. Bellamy asked. “The girl, with your opponent?”

  Rourke shrugged, as if he didn’t care. “Some girl. Name’s Jenny, I think. Why do you ask?”

  “She reminds me of someone, is all. Someone I used to know.” Philip glanced over at him. “Someone I used to look at the way you’re looking at her.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Of course not,” Mr. Bellamy said. “I once made the mistake of letting a girl go without a fight. To this day, I wish I hadn’t.”

  Although he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, the suggestion haunted Rourke. Tell her, said a voice in his head. Just tell her the truth, because the truth never hurt anything. Tell her, before the chance slips away.

  * * *

  At summer’s end, Joey left for Phase 1 of Ranger School in Fort Benning, Georgia. He wasn’t even able to stay for the closing ceremonies at Camp Kioga. Jenny knew it would be eight weeks or more before she would see him again. He’d called from the pay phone up at Camp Kioga to let her know he had something to ask her, and something to tell her. She suspected she knew what it was, and didn’t quite know how she felt about it. When he came to tell her goodbye, she was inexplicably nervous.

  “I’ll walk over to the train station with you,” she said, meeting him at the back door of the bakery.

  He shouldered his duffel bag and slipped his free arm around her. Over the summer, Joey had let his thick, wavy black hair grow out, but he still had a soldier’s physique, fit and muscular.

  “I still can’t imagine you as a rifle ranger,” she said.

  “That’s what my dad says.”

  “You’re too...peaceful, I guess. Too nice.”

  “That’s why my first tour was in protocol in D.C., I guess. I’m ready for something else this time,” he said. “Some action.”

  “I can’t believe they’re going to train you to kill people.”

  “They’re going to train me to do a lot of things,” he said. “To survive and serve my country, among other things.”

  She immediately felt contrite. He was doing this for his education, for his future. She had no right to question him. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re going to do great and they’re lucky to get you.”

  “Nice to know somebody thinks so. I’ll try to remember that when I’m screaming for mercy during training exercises.” He stopped at a bench outside the entrance to the station. “Hold up a minute, will you?”

  The area was beautifully manicured, designed to welcome visitors to Avalon. Tall elm trees and sugar maples formed an archway over the main walk, which was flanked by flower beds. By August, the dahlias and delphiniums looked spent and exhausted. A few drying leaves swirled on the breeze, a reminder that autumn would soon be here. A small flock of crows circled overhead, then alighted noisily in one of the trees.

  “I need to ask you something.” Joey set down his bag.

  She stopped walking and glanced around, not sure what she was looking for. All she saw was the town where she’d lived her entire life, the shop fronts and groups of tourists milling around the main square. Then she faced Joey. There was an intensity in the way he was looking at her, and something else, something she couldn’t escape, even if she’d wanted to—love. Joey loved her. She could see it in the way his eyes lit when he gazed at her, and in the tender turn of his smile, a special smile just for her.

  “I want to marry you, Jenny,” he said without preamble.

  Marry? Her mouth went dry and her throat closed, and she couldn’t speak. Probably not the reaction he was looking for. There was so much going on inside her—elation that here was somebody unafraid to declare that he wanted to spend his life with her. But there was fear, too. He trusted her with his heart.

  He didn’t seem bothered by her silence. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small box she recognized from Palmquist’s. “I know we can’t do anything right away, but I got you this.” He wore an adorable, bashful smile as he opened the box to show her a slender gold ring with a single, tiny diamond solitaire in the middle. “It’s the best I could afford. I hope you like it.”

  “I do, Joey. I—”

  He bent and kissed her then, and she felt safe in his embrace, as though nothing could ever hurt her. She could hear the arrival of the train from the north. It hissed to a halt and a whistle sounded. The startled crows exploded into the sky on a burst of black wings.

  “I know we’re young,” he whispered. “But I know what I want, and I know we can make it work. In twenty-four months, I’ll be done with this enlistment. We’ll live right here in Avalon and I can commute to the state college. You’ll never have to leave your grandmother.”

  At that, Jenny couldn’t help smiling. “Gram loves you. When she hears that, she’ll declare you a candidate for sainthood.”

  “I’m no saint. If she was the Wicked Witch of the West, I’d still love her because she’s your grandmother.” With that, he slipped the ring on her finger. “Look at that,” he said. “It’s a perfect fit.”

  She gazed down at her hand, at the glint of the diamond. “It is,” she agreed. “Perfect. But two years is a long time—”

  “I’ve loved you for longer than that,” he said. “Two years is nothing. This decision is not something that came out of the blue. I’ve thought about being with you forever.”

  “I haven’t,” she confessed.

  “I know.” He pulled her close, his chest expanding as he inhaled deeply. “I’m asking you to take a leap of faith. I’m asking you to trust that I love you, that this will work.”

  “First boarding call,” came a tinny-sounding voice through the speakers mounted outside the station. “This is your first boarding call for the southbound express.”

  Jenny shut her eyes, picturing herself on the brink of a dark chasm, teetering, about to make that leap of faith. Against her will, she thought of Rourke. Well, of course she thought of Rourke, because he was the one person who could have made a difference in this moment. If he’d just said something, given her any kind of sign that he had feelings for her, that would have changed everything. But ever since the night of the fireworks, he’d kept his distance. He’d even seemed to go out of his way to make sure she saw how many girls he dated. That, she knew, was the sign she was looking for. It wasn’t the one she wanted to see, but he was telling her, loud and clear, her place in the pecking order.

  Joey held her face between his hands and must have spotted the gleam of tears in her eyes. “It’ll be all right,” he said, misreading the tears. “I’ll be back before you know it.
We’ll live here and take care of your gram for as long as she needs us, I swear it.”

  She didn’t know how to answer him. He had such gentle eyes, such a sweet nature. And most important of all, he would never, ever break her heart. He was perfect for her—loyal and affectionate and dedicated.

  “Final boarding call,” came the canned voice. “This is your final boarding call for the southbound express.”

  “I need to go,” Joey said. He took her left hand and placed a kiss on her palm, then closed her fingers around it. “I’ll call you every chance I get. I’ll write you every day.”

  “Good luck,” she said, fighting tears. “Keep yourself safe.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise me. I swear, Joey, be safe, no matter what.”

  “Of course.”

  A whistle sounded. He bent and kissed her, then grabbed his bag and ran along the walkway and through the waiting room. She could see him emerge on the other side of the wrought-iron bars of the platform. He stepped up to a passenger car, turned to give her a last wave. A cloud of dust from the tracks swept across the platform, shrouding him in translucence as the train pulled away.

  Jenny simply stood there in the park in front of the station, staring at the empty space where the train had been. The air smelled hot and cindery, and sounds were oddly muted—the traffic, the voices of people passing by. At some point, she sat down on the park bench. With her left thumb, she touched the hard circle of Joey’s ring. What have I done? she asked herself again and again. What have I done?

  She lost all track of time. It might have been minutes or even hours later. Afternoon shadows slipped over her. In the clock tower of the town hall, a bell sounded. Finally she got up and wiped her hands on her skirt. She’d best get home. Gram would worry.

  But Gram didn’t seem worried. She was waiting, her soft white hair freshly done by the visiting nurse who looked after her each day. She was watching Oprah, but when Jenny came through the door, she turned off the TV.

  Jenny sat down across from her, still feeling a bit stunned. She held out her hand with the ring on it. “Joey gave me this. He wants to get married.”

  “Yes,” Gram said. “I know. He asked me.” Gram’s smile was crooked, a side effect of the stroke, but her eyes shone with happiness. “It is such a blessing. I have always wanted you to find someone who looks at you and sees what I see. He will make you happy.”

  “I’m afraid,” Jenny said. “I’m not sure I love him in a marrying way.” She had dreams. Aspirations. She didn’t know if any of them were enhanced by this engagement. “I didn’t say yes.”

  “You took the ring.”

  “Oh, Gram.”

  “Joey is a good man. He is like us, not like a rich boy who is careless with your heart.”

  “I want to make sure I’m not being careless with him,” Jenny said. She felt weighed down by the awesome responsibility of making another person happy, sharing her life with him. She had no idea if she could do that. Joey thought she could, though. He believed in her.

  * * *

  When Rourke pulled up in front of Jenny’s house, he saw her on the front porch, writing longhand in a spiral-bound notebook. She worked with such deep concentration that she didn’t seem to notice him as he parked at a bad angle along the curb and jumped out, leaving the door ajar.

  She looked up and saw him and for a split second he was sure he saw unguarded pleasure in her eyes. Then she slapped her writing book shut and stood up. “Rourke, is something wrong?” she asked.

  He stood at the bottom of the porch steps and looked at her, and the tightness in his chest finally unfurled. Her question was ironic because something had been wrong all summer, and he’d finally figured out how to make it right. It was so simple, really. He was in love with this beautiful brown-eyed girl, whom he’d known since they were kids. Sure, it was complicated, since she’d been going out with Joey, but that was over now. Joey had left on the morning train.

  Rourke had put himself through hell, trying to convince himself that what he felt for her wasn’t love. He was done with all that. He joined her on the front porch and took her hand. “I came to talk to you about something,” he said. He voice sounded too low and rough. He cleared his throat. “It’s kind of important.” And God, he hoped it was to her, too. “I wanted to tell you that I’m—”

  A train whistle sounded, drowning out his next words. At the end of the street, red lights flashed as the gates started to close. A car heading toward town sped up, clearly attempting to get across the tracks before the train arrived. Rourke tensed as the gates lowered, nearly crashing onto the hood of the car. Idiot, thought Rourke. His hurry could have gotten him killed.

  The moment passed and he looked back at Jenny. “Sorry. What I meant to say was—”

  “There’s something I need to tell you, too,” she said, very gently extracting her hand from his.

  Only when she took back her hand did Rourke realize that her fingers had been icy cold—on one of the hottest days of the year. She swallowed, wincing as though the effort pained her. Her eyes shone brightly with tears. “Joey left a while ago.”

  Rourke nodded. He’d said his goodbyes the previous night. Things had been strained between him and Joey this summer, but they’d been best friends all their lives. Rourke had to believe that meant something. He hoped like hell it meant Joey would forgive him for making a play for his girl.

  “Maybe he already told you...” Jenny was saying.

  “Told me what?”

  “He and I...he asked me to marry him.”

  Right, Rourke thought. Just perfect. This had to be some cosmic joke.

  She twisted the slender band of the ring around and around her finger. “Anyway, I thought...” Her voice trailed off into a wisp of uncertainty.

  She really wasn’t joking. Rourke forced himself to focus on what she was saying. She was going to marry Joey. She was going to be his best friend’s wife. He turned himself to stone because he didn’t want to feel anything—not hurt, not disappointment, not rage. “That’s good,” he said evenly. “Congratulations.”

  She nodded, her eyes still swimming. “Thanks. Um, you said you needed to talk about something?”

  He gave a little laugh then, thinking, thank God. Thank God he hadn’t said what he’d come here to say. It was the only thing he could think of that would make this moment worse.

  Food for Thought

  BY JENNY MAJESKY

  Bittersweet Dreams

  Eileen has been a bakery regular for years, and she loves chocolate more than any other customer we know. Chocolate has magical properties when prepared correctly. It’s an appropriate ingredient for days when it feels as though the whole world is against you, or on the anniversary of a sad event, because it tends to enhance one’s mood. The addition of a hint of liqueur brings out some of chocolate’s finest nuances. Frangelico is a good choice. Made in Italy with roasted hazelnuts and bottled in a container that will remind you of Mrs. Butterworth’s, it won’t overwhelm the other flavors.

  The cocoa content of chocolate matters; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The very best taste comes from chocolate with a cocoa content of 70 percent or more. Also, avoid anything with an ingredient called “vanillin,” a chemical substitute for real vanilla. Possibly most important of all, choose chocolate that uses cocoa butter. Interestingly, it melts at 93°F, which is close to body temperature. This, I think, is no coincidence.

  EILEEN’S BITTER CHOCOLATE CAKE

  sugar for dusting pan

  2 sticks unsalted butter

  6 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped

  3 ounces unsweetened, strong, dark chocolate, chopped

  1-¼ cups sugar

  4 extra-large eggs

  1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

  light
ly sweetened whipped cream

  1 tablespoon Frangelico liqueur

  toasted chopped hazelnuts

  Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter a 9 inch-diameter springform pan. Sprinkle bottom and sides with sugar. Wrap foil around bottom and 2 inches up outside of pan.

  Combine butter and both chocolates in a glass bowl and melt in microwave, stirring until smooth.

  Whisk sugar and eggs together. Mix in flour. Stir in warm chocolate mixture. Pour batter into prepared pan. Place cake in large baking pan. Pour enough boiling water into baking pan to come ½ inch up sides of cake. Bake cake until top is firm and toothpick inserted into center comes out with some moist crumbs attached, about 1 hour.

  Remove cake from water and cool completely on rack. Transfer cake to platter, release pan sides. Add Frangelico to the whipped cream. Garnish each slice with whipped cream and a sprinkle of hazelnuts.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You’re making a big mistake,” Rourke said. “You’re running away instead of sticking around and figuring things out.”

  Jenny didn’t let herself look at him as she moved around the bedroom, packing her only bag. “Figuring what out?” she asked, discomfited by the way he was watching her. “Us?”

  He didn’t answer; she didn’t expect him to. Nor did she want to pursue the issue. It was one thing to fantasize about Rourke—that wasn’t a stretch. But when she’d begun to imagine that this was her life, she realized that the time had come for her to move on from this place. There wasn’t much to pack, of course, which she found strangely satisfying. “I’ve been here long enough, anyway.”

  “Long enough for what?” He leaned back against the wall, crossing his ankles and folding his arms.

  She wondered if he missed sleeping in his own bed, but she would never ask him. “For me to get over the initial upheaval, to tie up loose ends.” She picked up a shirt and tossed it haphazardly into the suitcase. “At least it’s nice to know I was never that attached to my clothes. I hardly miss anything.” She shook out her new flannel pajama bottoms and then wadded them up.